knowing my dreams are dreams makes them no less stressful

the air between us now, all needles and sulfurous furnaces
some casual cruelty come, bleach white and fuming
shall I cup my hands again, a chalice to catch your sick
shall I cast it ‘pon the kitchen floor, read you our future
all chunks and spatters // your mouth too many teeth
shall I teach you to swallow some, shall we gather, go
unforgiven again, lain down in muddy fields, waiting
to be plowed under, do you know that I am tired, that
another day waits beyond yet another damned dawn.

BLÓÐ

BLÓÐ

drink yr

god damned

fill.

stretch yr desicated

finger towards

each one you

wish cursed.

carve the lead,

bury the tablet

beside the heart-shaped

mound or yr septic tank.

you are a true

one of us.